


Secret Love

by Octinary



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Meet the Family, Misunderstandings, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 10:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28469766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Octinary/pseuds/Octinary
Summary: When the winter snows come early, Jaskier invites Geralt back to Lettenhove to spend the season with him and his family.  Geralt, nursing the Continent's biggest crush on his bardic companion, figures that it won't be that hard to keep his affections a secret from Jaskier's family.  After all, he's managed to keep them to himself for this long with no issues.  This should be a piece of cake, right?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 42
Kudos: 300
Collections: The Witcher Secret Santa 2020





	Secret Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [persephassax](https://archiveofourown.org/users/persephassax/gifts).



> This is my Secret Santa gift for [@persephassax](https://persephassax.tumblr.com)! You said you liked fake dating (which sort of half happens here), and a comedy of errors/ridiculous confusion (which definitely happens here) in the context of a festival where people were switching roles. And, of course, a happy ending! Hopefully this ticks most of your boxes! I hope you had/are having a great holiday!
> 
> Many thanks to [Dap](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dapperanachronism) and [Tricksy Pixie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TricksyPixie) who helped me out with beta-ing this!
> 
> Title is taken from the song Secret Love by Dorris Day, because the plot of that song heavily inspired Geralt's plot line in this. :)

“This is really unprecedented. I’ve never seen it snow this early in the year before! And so much! It’s really coming down. I wonder if it will last or if it will all have melted by the morning. Have you ever seen it snow this early in the year before, Geralt?”

Only half-paying attention, Geralt responded with, “Hm,” and drank another mouthful of the weak beer that passed for the local specialty in Murivel. He’d been travelling with Jaskier long enough to know that his input was not actually required and would, in fact, throw off the rhythm of Jaskier’s little monologue. Besides, he liked listening to the other man’s melodious ramblings. Even in his idle prose, he was every inch the poet. Or at least Geralt thought so. Which had been one of the first signs that the bard was worming his way into becoming more than just a casual traveling acquaintance.

“Well, whether it stays or whether it melts it must be playing havoc with the harvest. Here we are, warm and well-fed while the weather cruelly and impersonally ruins the livelihoods of our countrymen. Mark my words, Geralt, it’s going to be a lean winter in Redania.”

“Your countrymen.” The man was mesmerizing even when he was maudlin, but Geralt didn’t particularly like this turn in the conversation. He had been thoroughly enjoying being warm and well-fed and didn’t need reminding that the world was a merciless shithole.

Jaskier just rolled his eyes and smirked. “Yes, yes, my countrymen, you melodramatic ass. I forgot you are a kingdomless nomad, dedicated only to the slaughter of monsters and the noble pursuit of true neutrality.” He jabbed Geralt in the chest with a deceptively strong finger and added sarcastically, “Which is why you always so famously stay out of politics and world events. You’ll never catch the great White Wolf, Geralt of Rivia, meddling with kings or nobles, sorceresses or mages, dryads or elven rebels, oh no. Just the simple life for you.”

Geralt raised his own brow in amusement. The number of people willing to tease a witcher were few and far between. Jaskier had never been afraid of him though, which was another hint that there was something special about the man, or at least something special about him in Geralt's esteem. “Now who’s being melodramatic? You said it yourself a moment ago, ‘Geralt of Rivia.’ I’m not Redanian, I’m Rivian.”

“And I’m the King of Kerack.”

“Oh? Have I been remiss in my manners all this time, Your Majesty?”

The other man snorted. “So you do know courtly manners after all? I had rather thought they were anathema to you. In all the time we’ve known each other you’ve never once tacked on a ‘my Lord Lettenhove’ and I’ve actually got a claim on that one.”

“Should I start?”

Jaskier’s eyes unwaveringly met his, challenge sparkling bright in them. “Oh, definitely. But may I offer some humble advice? Do not call up that which you cannot put down, my friend. You’ll tire of that game long before I do. And my teasing when you inevitably slip up will be biting, thorough, merciless and quite likely in verse.”

Geralt conceded the point with a tilt of his head and a clink of his glass against Jaskier’s, who, with a laugh, magnanimously accepted the toast. Geralt usually hated losing, but losing to Jaskier never felt much like losing at all, yet another glaring symptom of Geralt’s growing predicament.

Jaskier swirled his glass of mediocre wine (Geralt knew it to be such as the quality of the wine had been the focus of an earlier monologue), and watched the snow fall through the window, eyes flickering to track individual fat flakes as they made their meandering way to the earth. “I wonder if we’ll be stuck here ‘til spring, if the snow will just continue to fall and drift and pile up until the whole inn is buried. Maybe the whole world. There’s a thought for you: I wonder if this is the White Frost. That would be a thing, wouldn’t it? Tedd Deireadh, the final age of ice and snow. The end of the world started and none of us even noticed. Do you think-”

The apocalypse wasn’t really that much cheerier a topic than starving peasants, so Geralt cut the bard off by making his Jaskier noise. That had been the final nail in the coffin, really: when he realized he had developed an entirely new vocalization just for dealing with Jaskier's nonsense. It was for when you were not going to humour his stupid question about whether a flower based dryad would technically have both male and female genitalia since flowers do, but then he kept prattling on and you couldn't help but point out that trees were technically hermaphroditic too, but no one expects tree dryads to have cocks, and now you are twenty minutes into a ridiculous conversation that would get you shot in Brokilon and which you swore you were not going to have and need to get out of before you do something stupid. Like hit him. Or kiss him. Or give up on civilization and human company entirely and run screaming into the forest (not that the dryads would let you stay there now). He supposed that, overall, it wasn't that surprising that Jaskier had spawned a new noise in him; after all, his presence had definitely spawned new, or at least long forgotten, feelings. Giddiness. Self-consciousness. Lack of focus. Clumsiness. Which, combined with the other telltale indications, was all just another way of saying that Geralt had a crush, had it bad and, on the whole, hated it. It was very much like being unpleasantly drunk, except for those brief sparkling moments where it was wonderfully like being happily drunk. It was rapidly becoming an issue.

Blissfully unaware of Geralt’s dilemma, Jaskier just sipped his wine and effortlessly flitted on to another topic of conversation. “What are you going to do if the snow is here to stay? You can’t make it up to your secret mountain hideaway in this weather.”

Geralt shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first winter I spent on the Path.” He wasn’t quite as nonchalant about the prospect as he was pretending to be, though. A winter spent relaxing with his brothers was vastly preferable to one spent freezing on the icy roads of the Northern Kingdoms picking up whatever paltry work the weather permitted. With the populace tucked away safe in their warm, cosy homes, the number of monster attacks, and hence witcher contracts, dropped drastically. Inwardly, he was fervently hoping the snow stopped.

Jaskier opened his mouth to speak, seemed to think better of it, fidgeted for a moment and then blurted out, “You could come home with me for the season. Lettenhove isn’t far from here. I was planning on subjecting my mother and my sister and her family to my inimitable presence this year. The estate is more than large enough to support one more stomach, even one as bottomless as a witcher’s.”

“All right.” Geralt responded before he’d even had time to fully process the invite and winced slightly at his over-eagerness. That was the problem with crushes, they seemed to be able to bypass the conscious thought processes in the brain and get you acting on instinct before you knew what you were doing.

“Excellent!” Jaskier clapped his hands together. “That’s sorted then. Of course, only if the snow keeps up. I’m sure you’d much rather spend your winter with the other Wolves if you can.”

“Of course,” Geralt murmured his agreement, fervently hoping the snow would not stop.

*

In the first concession to Geralt’s wishes that the universe had ever afforded him, the snow did not stop. It clogged up the roadways and drove travellers into the inns, forcing Geralt and Jaskier to camp outside in the awful weather and making the three day journey to Lettenhove take closer to a week. Fortunately for the common folk of Redania, Jaskier’s knowledge of harvest times was actually next to non-existent and despite the early snows most of the crops were already safely gathered in. The preservation of the winter stores was still well underway, however. When Jaskier and Geralt arrived at Lettenhove, the manor house stood empty, but the chimneys in the big central barn were putting out billowing clouds of sweet smelling smoke. Jaskier grinned and clasped Geralt on the shoulder. “Come on.”

Inside the barn was a cacophony of sounds and people, but only one prevalent smell: apples. There were eight large vats of the things boiling and, near where they came in, an assembly line of people cutting, peeling and coring. At the other end of the barn, vats that had already come off the cook fires were being prepared in a few different ways, depending on what they were going to become. Some contained tart apple slices that were being preserved and canned, others were being spiced and mashed into sweet sauce, and still others were being carefully strained into bottles for juice. The air inside was humid from the numerous fires and boiling water, and both Jaskier and Geralt quickly shed their coats. Roach nickered happily, fairly confident she had died and gone to the horse equivalent of heaven.

“Your family owns orchards?” It was an obvious thing to say, but Geralt honestly hadn’t known what to expect. Jaskier rarely talked about his family.

“We do.” With a grin, Jaskier nicked an apple from the still substantial pile yet to be processed and gave it to the elated Roach. “The largest apple orchard in Redania actually. If you’ve had apple juice in this country, it’s probably come from Lettenhove.” He winked. “Don’t tell Yennefer.”

There was enough work being done that no one particularly seemed to notice the addition of Lettenhove’s wayward son, witcher and horse in tow. Jaskier led Geralt through another set of doors into a smaller barn adjacent to the main building which housed two cows, a dozen or so chickens and four beautiful black geldings. After seeing Roach settled, they returned to the main barn again and Jaskier started wandering through the mess of people and fruit, waving to acquaintances, but not stopping to talk despite several people expressing an interest in his attention. He was clearly looking for someone. Finally, with a bright, “Aha!” he stepped up behind an older woman, sleeves rolled up as she stirred spices into a pot of sauce, and popped his hands over her eyes. “Guess who, mother?”

“Julian!” She turned in his grasp and threw her arms around his neck.

“Got it in one! Although in retrospect the ‘mother’ part was probably something of a dead give away since, as far as I know, you do only have the one son.” Jaskier raised an eyebrow playfully. “Although it has been a while since my last visit. Been keeping yourself busy? Any contenders for the title I should be worried about?”

His mother swatted him in return. She was a head shorter than him and her hair had matured to a steely grey, but the bright blue eyes beaming out of her face were a perfect match to Jaskier’s own. “Gods help me, I keep forgetting that the university knocked all the common sense out of your head. Do we have to have the birds and the bees talk again? You see, my son, once a woman reaches a certain age, her womb dries up and the prospect of bearing children again is taken right off the table. Which means that I can have all the adventurous sex I want with various stable hands and you never need worry. In fact, just the other day I-”

“Ah, ah, ah!” Jaskier clapped his hands over his ears. “You win. I don’t want to hear about the details of your raunchy widowhood. Although I'm glad the increase in budget for stable hands I approved last year was put to good use. There is someone I want to introduce you to though,” Jaskier gestured for Geralt to come closer so he could be properly presented. “This is Geralt of Rivia. Geralt, my mother, the Lady Stefania of Lettenhove.”

“My lady Lettenhove.” Geralt sketched a polite bow while Jaskier, sarcastically, rolled his eyes at him.

“She gets the title?” he laughed.

Geralt just shrugged in response. "She does the work."

“The witcher?” His mother raised an inquisitive brow, but did not seem entirely averse or hostile to his profession, another expression that made the family resemblance seem even stronger.

“The muse.” Jaskier clarified. “He was snowed out of his hibernal habitat and, as its rightful lord, I offered him the hospitality of the Lettenhove estate.”

“Its rightful lord indeed!” Lady Stefania swatted Jaskier again. Geralt couldn’t help but smile at her and hoped she didn't find it too intimidating. “Go find your sister, you wastral! She’ll find work for you two layabouts to earn your keep.” Her tone was light and jovial, softening the command from insult to jest. Jaskier pecked her on the cheek and linked his arm through Geralt’s, leading them through the chaos in search of his sister. Jaskier was always overly tactile, but this? This was extra nice. On Jaskier’s arm in Jaskier’s barn on Jaskier’s land with Jaskier’s family and tenants all about, Geralt felt more like a man, and less like a monster, than he had in years. 

The only place Geralt had ever seen Jaskier more in his element was on the stage. Mission to see his mother complete, he meandered on his search for his sister, greeting a number of people as they passed, remembering names and asking politely after those who were missing, trading blunted barbs and inside jokes, and generally being his ridiculously charming self. Geralt turned his head to look lovingly at the object of his affection right when Jaskier turned to say something to him and Geralt found himself stammering out the first question that came into his mind to stop himself from just leaning in and kissing the man. “So you aren’t the rightful Viscount of Lettenhove?”

Jaskier laughed. “I am the Viscount in name alone. I inherited the title when my father died several years ago. My elder sister and her husband run the estate in fact. The title passes through male primogeniture though, so she can’t have it. Her firstborn son, my nephew Edward, is my heir and can have the damn thing as soon as he’s old enough as far as I’m concerned. They don’t need me around mucking things up. I just swan through on occasion to stamp some paperwork and such.”

“Seems overly complicated.”

Geralt started as an unfamiliar voice joined their conversation. “It’s not so bad. And there are some concrete benefits.” In the jostle of the crowd, and the maze of Jaskier’s smile, Geralt hadn’t noticed the big man come up behind them until he was already speaking and casually throwing one broad arm around Geralt’s shoulders and the other around Jaskier’s. Past the unfamiliar man’s head bobbing between them, he could see Jaskier grinning about it though, so he concluded the man was only unfamiliar to him and they were not actually under attack. Which was a shame. As far as he was concerned, anyone who interposed themselves between the bard and him deserved a fist to the face at the very least.

“For instance,” the man happily continued, unaware of Geralt’s ire, “If we decide to stop paying taxes, Radovid will lop Julian’s head off instead of mine.”

“Hendrick!” Jaskier exclaimed, seemingly content to remain in their odd embrace. “Geralt, may I introduce my brother-in-law, Hendrick. Hendrick, Geralt of Rivia. Is Irena around? Mother wants us put to work.”

“She’s in the back barn with the cider. You remember how to help with that, or do you need me to sing it for you?”

Jaskier stuck his tongue out as he finally ducked out from under his brother-in-law’s arm. “I remember.”

Losing Jaskier, Hendrick reclaimed his arm from around Geralt’s shoulders as well. Geralt tried to roll them subtly, somewhat uncomfortable with the unfamiliar touch. “I can help as well. Jaskier can show me what to do.”

Hendrick and Jaskier exchanged a quick look that Geralt immediately understood to mean that that would not be happening. Which seemed dumb to Geralt. How hard could cider-making be?

After some enthusiastic eyebrow waggling at each other, Hendrick finally tentatively offered, “I assume you’re handy with a knife. We could always use more people peeling and cutting.”

Seeing Geralt’s displeasure, Jaskier stepped closer and squeezed his arm. “Everyone’s really busy right now and we want to stay as much out of the way as possible. The first few days are always the worst. We’ll soon have this all wrapped up and then we’ll have the whole winter to laze about.” He gave Geralt a lop-sided smile. It was Jaskier’s ‘I promise you things will turn out alright’ smile. It always made Geralt a little giddy. “I’ll see you at dinner. You can catch me up on how slaughtering an apple differs from slaughtering an alp, alright?”

“Yes.” Again, Geralt found himself agreeing before he was consciously aware of what he was doing. Before his mind had fully caught up, Jaskier was whisked away and Hendrick showed Geralt to a table where he was introduced to Hanna and Nadia, two fifteen year old scullery maids cum apple slicers. They seemed a bit shy of him at first as they tentatively showed him how to prepare the fruit for boiling, but it was simple repetitive work, so in the matter of a few minutes they were whispering to each other as they worked. His augmented hearing could pick up their conversation easily, but, out of politeness, he pretended not to.

“You ask him!”

“No you!”

“I asked Antoni to dance with you at the harvest festival!”

“I worked three Sundays in a row for you for that!”

“I’ll take your next three Sundays if you ask him now.”

“Oooh… fine.”

Geralt had slipped into a near meditative trance as he worked, but he was jostled out of it by one of the girls, Hanna, clearing her throat. “You’re the witcher that travels with Lord Julian, right? The one he writes all the songs about?”

“I am.” He would have thought that was fairly obvious given their arrival together, but the two girls nudged each other suggestively, Nadia egging Hanna to continue.

After a small giggle, she asked, “You’ve been together for a long time, haven’t you?”

“We have.” If he had been hoping for conversation to dull the monotony of the peeling, coring and dicing process, clearly this was not going to be it. To be fair, there weren’t a lot of topics of conversation he could imagine sharing an interest in with a teenage girl. He let his mind drift back into the quiet space approaching meditation.

“You protect him from bandits and such, out on the roads?”

“I do.”

“And he makes sure people know all the good work you do for them?”

“He does.”

“So you look out for each other. You suit each other well.” There was a period of silence, as if they expected Geralt to volunteer some further information, but he was not sure exactly what they wanted from him, so he just kept at his work. Another bout of furious whispering took place before Nadia took over the questioning. “You share meals with him?”

“Yes.”

“Campfires?”

“Yes.”

Another set of giggles bubbled into the space between them. “Beds?”

“On occasion.”

“So you’re… together?”

“Frequently.”

“I mean, you love him?”

“I do.” Wait, what? Geralt’s hand slipped and sliced his thumb as his conscious brain tried desperately to recover from what he had unwittingly revealed.

There was a squeal from the pair of girls though and Geralt had a sinking feeling that it was already too late. “I told you! I knew it! I just knew it! Tomas owes me twenty crowns!”

“I have to tell Emilia!” Clutching his thumb in his opposite hand to staunch the bleeding, Geralt didn’t have a free hand to stop Nadia from leaving. He could see her lean over to whisper in an older girl's ear, who then also squealed and leaned over to tell the man standing beside her. Geralt stared at the chain of whispers and realized he had never felt more out of control of a situation in his life.

Misreading the source of his distress, Hanna patted his arm comfortingly and offered to bind his thumb with a linen square. The cut had already stopped bleeding, but dumbstruck, Geralt let her fuss. As she wrapped his digit, she said confidently, “I know there are lots of places you two can’t tell people about your relationship, which is why Lord Julian can’t sing plainly and we were all forced to make guesses as to it, but don’t you worry about that here. The old Lord Lettenhove had a brother who was queer and he wouldn’t let nobody speak ill of him or his chosen man. The two gents lived in a cottage on the east end of the property together happily as husbands for the course of their natural lives.” She tied off the makeshift bandage with a little bow and smiled. “We’ll take care of you here.”

Geralt had wished for the snow to stay and it had. As the rumour spread irrevocably like wildfire through the busy barn, he wondered if he wished hard enough whether the earth would open up and swallow him whole.

*

Given the accidental revelation of the afternoon, Geralt had been dreading a confrontation with Jaskier at dinner. Inexplicably, it never came. He was introduced to Irena, who, unlike Jaskier and his mother, had green eyes, but the same foppish brown hair as her brother. Most of it was pulled into a practical bun, but her bangs seemed to bounce into her eyes just as Jaskier’s did. Geralt smiled when he noticed they performed the same head toss to flick them away. He also met Jaskier’s nephews, Edward and Michal, who both took more after their father, Hendrick, with dark eyes and hair. Jaskier mostly dominated the conversation, telling greatly exaggerated stories of their exploits this past summer while Irena joyfully poked holes in all of his grandiose lies. Edward and Michal were eager to hear stories of monsters, so Geralt dutifully provided some heavily edited accounts, much to Jaskier’s melodramatic dismay.

“He doesn’t give me half as many details as this!” He teased, pretending to be deeply wounded. “Not even a third! Not even if I beg on my knees!”

Irena raised a delicate brow. “Is that really what he wants you to do on your knees before him, brother-mine?”

Geralt tensed for the inevitable fallout, but Jaskier just feigned shock and laughed at the jest.

“What else would Uncle Julian do on his knees?” Michal asked.

“Pray.” Lady Stefania provided quickly. “For Geralt’s safe return from a hunt.” And, blessedly, the meal moved on.

After dinner, Geralt went to check on Roach and there was another brief uncomfortable moment when he returned to the house and Tomas, with a knowing wink, brought him to Jaskier’s rooms instead of a guest room. When Tomas knocked sharply and Jaskier opened the door to see the servant and the witcher standing there, Jaskier looked surprised, but not necessarily unhappy to see him again so soon after they had said their good nights. "Geralt! Tomas! Is something wrong?”

“The gentlemen would not mind sharing, I assume?” Tomas grinned and abandoned Geralt to his fate.

“Your cousins,” Geralt fumbled quickly for an excuse and remembered some gossip he had happened to overhear in the barn earlier. “They’re coming to visit this winter. They’ll need the spare room.” Two men had mentioned they were glad that, since Geralt would obviously want to share with Jaskier, they didn’t have to pull the spare bed down from the attic and make up the music room into another spare bedroom.

“You don’t mind?” Jaskier asked. “My cousins won’t be here for a few weeks. I mean we could share then instead of pulling the old bed out of storage but there’s no reason for us to do so now unless-”

“I don’t mind.” Geralt answered quickly, happily grabbing the opportunity presented to him and pushing past Jaskier into the room. It was at least three times larger than the average inn room they shared; they would have no problem staying out of each other’s way if need be. And the bed was easily large enough for them to both comfortably take a side without having to sleep wrapped up in each other. Unfortunately.

Somehow, miraculously, the ruse continued undiscovered through the following weeks. When Lady Stefania prodded over breakfast, “So how long has this been going on?” Jaskier unknowingly teased back, “We met in Posada. I told you this story before. Are you going senile already, mother?” and when she pressed him about how long they had been serious, Geralt solemnly responded that it took him a few years to get used to the idea. A joke made about how Julian seemed to be a lot quieter in bed than he had been as a teenager was defused by Geralt quickly grumbling that he just poked Jaskier to make him roll over whenever he started to snore. He was introduced to Jaskier’s cousins when they arrived as ‘Julian’s witcher,’ but that was easy enough to laugh off as Jaskier himself frequently referred to Geralt as his muse. No one seemed inclined to outright state Geralt and Jaskier’s ‘relationship’ as fact, so between Jaskier’s tendency to take everything as a joke and Geralt’s quick thinking it seemed likely that he might actually be able to keep up this deception until spring. He was briefly concerned that the lack of observable physical affection might tip the household off as to the truth of the matter, but Jaskier himself unwittingly provided the answer to that one when he made a joke about Geralt’s mild touch aversion and how long it took before Geralt was comfortable with Jaskier's hands on him even in private. Granted, Jaskier was talking about washing his hair, but no one else needed to know that.

All in all, Geralt was starting to feel fairly complacent when Hanna sprung the news on him. He had been helping the kitchen girls unload a cart of supplies purchased for the Yule celebrations and couldn’t help but notice, and comment on, how there seemed to be enough for at least three feasts.

“Of course,” Hanna agreed. “There’s the big feast on the first night, the night of the solstice, and the feast for the New Year on the twelfth night, obviously, but it’s an old Lettenhove tradition that the lord’s family serve a feast to the servants on the second night.”

“It’s a lot of fun!” Nadia added. “It started with just the house servants and the family switching roles, and they still do that for the feast, but now we've all sort of taken it over. Its about picking a specific person to switch with and then getting to spend a day in their shoes.” With a small blush she added, “I asked Helena and she is going to switch with me.”

“Oh! Congratulations! Antoni will be working in the kitchen for me and I’ll be in the stables!” Hanna beamed. “And it is always such a laugh to see Tomas with the washing while Emilia acts as butler. And, of course, you’ll be singing for us, right Geralt? And Lord Julian will have to hunt something!” The girls descended into giggles.

“Sing?” Geralt could feel his stomach sinking.

Nadia nodded. “It’s a tradition! Surely you must know some songs, being with Lord Julian so long.”

“Oh!” Hanna added excitedly. “You should sing him a love song! Something romantic! Ah, that would be the best.”

Geralt swallowed the lump in his throat. “Romantic?”

“Don’t worry.” Nadia patted his arm companionably. During his first week here, when they had spent hours every day peeling apples together, the two girls had grown comfortable with offering him the occasional arm pat or nudge. “We’ll find the perfect song for you.”

*

As it turned out, Nadia and Hanna did not find the perfect song for Geralt, but they did find him a songbook. Flipping through it, Geralt did not recognize any of the pieces. It was a modern songbook, Hanna assured him, from Oxenfurt, so none of the old ballads Geralt was familiar with were in it and while he could read the lyrics he did not know how to read the music. He found the song with the least flowery prose and the simplest melody (well, he assumed the melody was simple anyway since the notes did not seem as chaotically dispersed over the staff as in many of the others), and snuck off to find Irena. He knew, from many pleasant nights spent after dinner in the music room, that she could read the notes.

In an attempt to hide any flushing that his face might decide to do during this conversation, he accosted her outside with the songbook, when she was in the stables after a ride. Unlike Jaskier, Irena was an avid equestrian, a trait Geralt always admired in a person.

“Oh!” She had clutched the book to her chest when he handed it over and her eyes seemed to get misty. “Oh, Geralt. This will be just lovely. Julian will be ecstatic. It’s perfect.” She hummed him the melody several times, right there in the barn, until he could repeat it back to her. His voice sounded weak and tinny in the small space and Roach tucked her ears back in displeasure at his dissonance, so he couldn’t imagine how bad it would sound in the main hall. He grit his teeth and kept reminding himself that it was just one stupid song for Jaskier’s stupid family tradition though. They had done so much for him this winter, making him feel more welcome than he did in any other human settlement on the Continent, so it was really the least he could do to participate. And he felt like any teasing he might have to endure for his notably subpar performance would at least be good natured.

Over the remaining few days leading up to the feast, he snuck away as frequently as he could to practice in the relative privacy of the stables. By the morning of his performance, he was still a far cry from Jaskier’s practiced pitch, but at least Roach wasn’t actively complaining anymore. Jaskier and Geralt were set to washing dishes as the day progressed, neither of them being trusted with the cooking or baking. Jaskier tried vainly to argue that he had improved dramatically since the unspecified cake related mishap of his youth, but when Lady Stefania had asked him directly, Geralt had found himself unable to lie about the quality of Jaskier’s ‘cooking.’ It was enough to keep them alive, but saying any more than that would be misleading. Jaskier had called him a traitor, but to be honest Geralt didn’t mind spending the day beside him, listening to him chat with his cousins and sing little snippets of wassailing songs to the kitchen in general.

For the feast itself, the primary household staff sat at the main table with the secondary staff occupying benches in the hall and Jaskier and his family, and Geralt, serving. While the others were clearing the second course, and there was traditionally a break for entertainment, Hanna and Nadia had made numerous elaborate gestures indicating that they wanted a song. Geralt made it a specific point not to make eye contact with them and started serving the third course before Jaskier could get any ideas in his head. Now that the moment was actually here, working up the courage to perform was proving much harder than he anticipated. Working up the courage to perform after Jaskier had already dazzled the crowd would have been outright impossible. It wasn’t until dessert was being served and Irena came up to him, touched his arm softly and whispered kindly, “You don’t have to, of course, but if you want to I think now’s your last chance,” that he finally decided to go through with it.

He walked to the empty space between the main table and the benches, the space Jaskier himself had occupied when he performed on the first night of the feast, and awkwardly cleared his throat. “My lords, my ladies,” he addressed the main table. Hanna and Nadia tittered at him encouragingly. “As a substitute for Jaskier, for your entertainment, I’d like to offer a song.”

“What the-” The whole room seemed to coo at his declaration and there was some scattered applause, but his keen ears picked up Jaskier’s unbridled shock. The man probably hadn’t expected Geralt to be such a good sport about this. He hoped Jaskier would take it for the compliment it was intended to be: that he was comfortable enough here and respected these people enough to play into their traditions.

When the room quieted, Geralt took a deep breath and began:

_The book of love is long and boring,  
No one can lift the damn thing.  
It’s full of charts and fact and figures  
And instructions for dancing  
But I,  
I love it when you read to me.  
And you,  
You can read me anything._

_The book of love has music in it.  
In fact that’s where music comes from.  
Some of it is just transcendental and  
Some of it is just really dumb.  
But I,  
I love it when you sing to me.  
And you,  
You can sing me anything._

_The book of love is long and boring  
And written very long ago.  
It’s full of flowers and heart-shaped boxes  
And things we’re all too young to know.  
But I,  
I love it when you give me things.  
And you,  
You can give me anything._

It was not a great performance. It was barely an adequate performance. Geralt knew his voice was quiet and didn’t carry particularly well. There was a decent chance that some of the people in the back hadn’t actually heard any of it at all. Still, the people of Lettenhove, kind as they were, gave him a standing ovation. There was a lot of hooting and cheering as well, which Geralt thought was a little excessive. Walking back to where Jaskier and his family were waiting to clear the dessert dishes, Lady Stefania seemed to have a tear in her eye and Irena hugged him tightly as he passed. Jaskier just looked flabbergasted.

“I- You- How- Wha-” It wasn’t often that Jaskier was at a loss for words, but Geralt was too self-conscious to really appreciate it. Jaskier grabbed his arm and dragged him out into the hallway. “Why did you do that?”

Of all of the questions Jaskier could have asked, that was not the question that Geralt had been expecting. “It’s tradition, isn’t it?”

“Who told you- Why is everyone-” Jaskier gestured back to the room they had just vacated. “How is no one surprised but me?”

Geralt just blinked and shrugged, but not so vigorously as to shake off the hand Jaskier still had wrapped around his forearm. “Hanna and Nadia told me about the switching and found me the songbook. As near as I can tell the two of them couldn’t keep a secret to save their lives. Irena helped me with the melody.”

“Huh.” Jaskier sighed with a smile and let his forehead fall to rest on Geralt’s chest. “It’s a hell of a way to ask someone out, I’ll give you that, witcher. A bit presumptuous really, I mean you’d look something of a fool if I turned you down now, but honestly I like that kind of confidence in a man.” Jaskier slipped his hands around Geralt’s waist and beamed up at him. “Yes. I’m yours.”

Geralt had been contemplating wrapping his arms around Jaskier for a quick hug, after all, it was a holiday and the man was right there, but froze instantly when he heard Jaskier’s declaration. “What?”

“I’m yours. Let’s try this.” Jaskier made to kiss Geralt and, again, Geralt’s unconscious brain made the decision to go through with that before his conscious brain could get a word in edgewise. The kiss was soft, but with a promise of many more passionate ones to come, and perfect in a way that so few things in Geralt’s life were.

“Mmm,” Jaskier hummed contentedly. “Should we go give everyone the good news that I have accepted your audacious proposal? You already seem to have the approval of my mother and sister, you sly dog.”

“Uh,” Geralt stammered.

“I still can’t believe you used the fact that only couples switch places on this holiday as a way to proposition me!”

Suddenly the situation clicked. Helena and Nadia. Antoni and Hanna. Tomas and Emilia. No wonder the girls had been so set on getting Geralt to sing. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Jaskier’s. “Couples…”

“Yes, couples. Did you-” Jaskier pulled back, eyes wide. “Did they not tell you? Oh gods, I never would have thought they would have been so cruel as to play a joke like that on you! I’m so sorry. Seriously. I’ll go have a talk with them right away. I know they’re young, but they shouldn’t play with people’s feelings like that. They’re just lucky it all worked out for the best.” A sudden terrible thought crossed Jaskier’s face. “Oh… it did work out for the best, didn’t it? I mean, I just kissed you! I didn’t think-”

Geralt kissed him quickly to dissipate that fear. “It worked out for the best. And, uh, maybe don’t give Nadia and Hanna a lecture. They were, well, doing their best.”

Jaskier narrowed his eyes as the last few weeks suddenly seemed to click for him. “Geralt, did Hanna and Nadia think we were already dating?”

Geralt tried to kiss Jaskier in lieu of answering, but the bard was having none of it. He put up his hand to block Geralt’s lips as he huffed a laugh. “No, no, wait. Does my whole family already think we are dating? How did that happen?”

With a defeated sigh, Geralt squeezed Jaskier tight. “Do you promise not to laugh?’

Jaskier squeezed back with a mischievous smile. “I promise no such thing.”

In the end, Jaskier laughed so hard he collapsed to the floor and Irena and Hendrick had to come out to see what was the matter. To Geralt’s utter mortification, Jaskier told them the whole story. That was okay though, since that night they got to sleep in the center of Jaskier’s big bed wrapped up around each other. And the night after that. And the night after that. Any temporary embarrassment was more than worth that permanent result.

**Author's Note:**

> The song Geralt sings is "The Book of Love" by the Magnetic Fields with the last line changed because even I thought it would be a bit presumptuous for Geralt to ask Jaskier to marry him without every having asking him out. 
> 
> You can find me on tumbler ([octinary.tumblr.com](https://octinary.tumblr.com)) if you want to chat!


End file.
